


Swiss-Army Ghost

by Joel7th



Series: Stray [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crack Pairing, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Oscar is one of The Swedes, Rare Pairings, Sequel, Spoilers for Season 2, The Swedes - Freeform, mention of Ben Hargreeves, mention of The Sparrow Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: “Has Klaus recently developed levitating ability without us knowing?” Luther asked once they were out in the courtyard, pointing a finger ahead.…Klaus got wasted and had to be carried home by his ghost.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/Oscar
Series: Stray [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891927
Comments: 18
Kudos: 162





	Swiss-Army Ghost

Once again Klaus had missed dinner night without prior warning, which usually meant either of two scenarios: one, he was out drinking and probably wouldn’t be back until past midnight, staggering to his bedroom upstairs (if he could miraculously be on his feet), and wouldn’t show his face before noon; and two, he had picked up another stray ghost and was taking his brand-new buddy to the diner for some quality bonding time.

Ah, between the Devil and the deep blue sea, as the old saying went. Allison wasn’t too sure if she’d applied it correctly in this case; adages and proverbs were Klaus’s expertise, even though he didn’t make a lot of sense most of the time. His retelling of the frog and the scorpion fable got stuck in her head despite how absurd it had sounded back then.

While the former was at least eighty-five percent more likely, if Allison had to, the latter was what she would pick. She would take the chance of Klaus bringing home yet another gun-toting, homicidal ghost over him getting one step closer to cirrhosis any other day.

Those were the thoughts that had been running around and around like a carousel in her head for the last hour. She was at the dining table, bare feet resting on the seat of a chair and manicured fingers clutching a pen with a cartoonish tiger head for the cap — Klaus’s gift. She was on page 67, had been on it since the clock struck ten, and she got, like, twice that number until she could call it a night. The script needed a ton of revision and adjustment and it wasn’t going to do it by itself but the lines kept slipping off her mind with the way her eyes strayed to the clock every few minutes. Opposite from her Luther grunted and scribbled furiously on a thick wad of paper. Judging by the scraps strewn around the table, he wasn’t making much progress with his task either.

The house was empty save the two of them. Klaus had been out since the morning doing Klaus-knew-what and Diego and Vanya had taken Five into town to blow off some steam with the intention to put a damper on his urge to eviscerate those “hormonal imbeciles” (read: his classmates). Luther would have joined them if he didn’t have to come up with an extensive training schedule for a demanding client at the gym he was currently working for. Allison would, too, if she didn’t have a deadline to meet and a potentially wasted brother to put to bed in case he was unable to make it to his room. She heaved a lengthy sigh, feeling a sort of guilt gnawing her insides for having been his enabler that morning in Ray’s kitchen. She herself had been upset but between the two of them, someone had had to assume the big sibling’s role.

Luther, having heard her sigh, lifted his head from the paper and asked, “How’s things on your side?”

“Been on the same page for nearly half an hour and making zero progress,” Allison replied, pinching the space between her brows. “I can’t seem to concentrate on the print. You?”

Luther smiled sheepishly, pushing the paper toward her. A blank page. “It’s not too difficult to train the clients at the gym, you know, to give them instructions on how to start, how to use the equipment, what to pay attention to based on their goals et cetera, ‘cuz I’ve been working out pretty much my whole life, but to create a training regime is not simple at all.”

“You can ask Clara for help. I’ve spoken with her a couple times, she seems helpful. Plus she gave you her number.”

Luther steered his gaze from her face to his huge, fidgety fingers. “What’s been distracting you? Klaus?”

Allison nodded.

“You don’t have to feel responsible for him, you know. I mean he’s a grown-up and he makes his own decisions.”

“I think we’ve all agreed on being responsible for each other,” Allison cut him, a bit harsher than she would like, and saw Luther flinch infinitesimally. She tried to soften it with a sigh. “It’s not like he’s constantly seen with a bottle and I dare say his AA meetings haven’t been a waste of time. It still hurts to see him getting shit-faced to the point he calls us all by Ben’s name.”

Allison saw the pain flit through his comely features and immediately regretted bringing it up. Since their return to Dallas from Sir Hargreeves’s mansion, Ben had been a touchy subject they all tiptoed around, especially whenever Klaus was within hearing range. Out of them Klaus had taken the hardest blow, physically or emotionally, which had only fueled his drinking habits.

“Have you, er, you know, er, thought about rumoring him?”

Of course she had. Every freaking time she smelled the alcohol on Klaus. And precisely because she had, Allison hadn’t done it.

“It’s a deep-rooted issue, Luther,” Allison explained, a note of hesitation in her tone. “If I rumored it away, there would surely be a catch. I don’t know what it’s gonna be but I _do_ know it’s not gonna be pretty in the least.”

She left it ambiguous as to who would be the impacted and Luther took it as his cue to drop the subject. He lowered his head and picked up his pencil, comically small in his hand, to begin scribbling again. An uneasy silence settled over them like a damp blanket as Allison turned her attention back to the paragraph she had been puzzling over. Seriously, who the fuck had written this piece? She really needed to have a word with the director about the writing of this show, right after she asked him to extend the deadline; no way she was going to finish this tonight!

When Allison was finally able to turn the page, she heard Luther ask, “Did you hear something?”

“No,” she replied, glancing at the clock. Ten thirty-five. “What is it?”

“I heard the front gate open.”

“Klaus or the others?”

“Can’t tell. Let’s go and find out.”

Allison put on her slippers and followed him.

“Has Klaus recently developed levitating ability without us knowing?” Luther asked once they were out in the courtyard, pointing a finger ahead.

Rightfully confused, Allison followed his finger and saw what he meant. Did it look like Klaus was levitating? Certainly. His feet weren’t touching the ground, and neither was any part of him. Did it _really_ look like Klaus was demonstrating his newfound levitation? Absolutely not because it looked like he was out cold and being slung over the shoulder of an invisible man. Or woman, a particularly strong woman. Allison corrected herself. Sexism wasn’t progressive in this household or anywhere in the world for that matter.

“Jesus, Klaus, what happened to you?” Allison mumbled under her breath.

Since back to Dallas, Klaus had steadily built up an obnoxious record of getting wasted but not once had he spent a night out. No matter how much he had imbibed, he always found his way home, reeking of alcohol and whatever else Allison tried not to dwell too hard on, and only in the safety of the mansion did he pass out. Allison found small relief in that habit; she wouldn’t dare to think about waking one morning to find the cops in their courtyard, informing them that they had found Klaus’s body in some dark deserted alleyway.

“What did you just say?”

“Klaus isn’t levitating,” Allison said, making to move. She stopped herself. “99% it’s his ghost carrying him.”

And that was precisely the problem. Was there any section in _Interacting with My Brother’s Assassin Ghost for Dummies_ that provided any clue on how to approach an armed ghost? Last time she checked, the ghost had blown up a man’s head because he had been advancing toward Klaus with a knife.

Hands checked. No knife. Safe for now.

“His what?”

“His ghost. One of The Swedes. Followed him like a stray so Klaus decided to keep him. I remember telling you about this already.” _Let’s hope against hope that nobody has seen this._

Luther scratched the back of his neck. “I thought you were making an elaborate joke.”

Allison glared at him with the intensity of every working lightbulb in the house. “Did I look like I was joking?”

“No, but…”

While the pair were talking, Klaus, or rather the ghost who was carrying Klaus, had stopped in front of them. Both Allison and Luther jumped a little.

Klaus was indeed unconscious. While Allison was seriously impressed that he could somehow maintain sufficient battery to keep his ghost semi-corporeal, she was a lot less thrilled that in this state, he wouldn’t be able to stop the ghost from, for example, opening fire on them.

She held up both her hands to stop Luther from saying anything and to show the ghost they meant no harm. “Er… thank you for bringing him home safely,” Allison said, recalling Klaus’s words that his dead Swede understood English. “We can take care of him from here.”

Luther extended his arms at once.

Silence. Which was decidedly better than gunshots, though it was arguable that a spectral rifle could produce any sound and whether you could hear it.

After a while, Allison exhaled in relief when Klaus was carefully transferred to Luther’s waiting arms.

…

“Where is he?” Luther asked, laying Klaus down on his bed. He turned his head around as if expecting to see a seven-foot-tall Swedish assassin with platinum hair and frigid, dead eyes, armed to the teeth like freaking Rambo. He had done it several times on the short journey to Klaus’s room. Allison would have found if comical if she herself hadn’t shared his fear.

“You should ask Klaus for that,” she replied, kneeling at the foot of the bed to take off Klaus’s sandals. Who in their right mind had come up with so many strings on this design? And who in their right mind would spend fifteen minutes each time they put them on or take them off?

“He’s sleeping like a log.”

Allison grunted softly. “I’m overjoyed the Swede didn’t shoot us.”

Luther paled, whipping his head around frantically. “Why did he want to shoot us?”

“What part of ‘homicidal ex-assassin ghost’ have you missed?”

“Five’s snarkiness has rubbed off on you the more time you spend helping with his homework.”

Allison had managed to unlaced Klaus’s footwear at last and she arranged his feet so that they didn’t peek out from the blanket she pulled over his form. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit snappy,” she said, pressing the back of her hand against Klaus’s forehead out of habit. No fever, no sweat, good. “I think he’s alright now. You and I can go back to work and wait for the others.”

Luther nodded, dimmed the bedside lamp and left the room with Allison.

…

It was a shattering noise that roused Allison from her deep slumber. “Not again, Luther,” she groaned with all the resentment of a vengeful spirit, cursing that her giant of a brother might have broken some chinaware; they were well on their way to replace every breakable item in the house with either metal or plastic in order to prevent being rudely awaken at six in the morning to the dying cry of a cup or glass. Groggily she reached for her watch on the bedside table and one look at the dial chased away all her sleepiness.

It was ten thirty in the morning and by this time the house must have already been vacated by most of its dwellers going either to school or to work, which meant the noise couldn’t have come from Luther. The only ones left were her, who had pulled an all-nighter in order to finish the script, and Klaus, who had been pissed-drunk and was likely having a massive hangover now. With that thought Allison sprung to her feet, threw on her bathrobe and rushed downstairs.

As she was tying the strings of her robe, Allison found a half-naked Klaus (topless, thank God) in the kitchen. He was sprawled on the dining table, his tousled head pillowed on his right arm while his left hand was absent-mindedly swirling the spoon in a bowl of some gooey substance. Oatmeal, probably, because Shaker Oats had been on sale during Luther’s last grocery shopping trip and he had purchased a whole family-sized package. In front of him sat a tall glass filled to the brim with… water.

Weird. Breakfast and Klaus often did not mix, oatmeal and Klaus even less so, and once he had remarked while having a severe hangover that oatmeal reminded him too much of that one time he had literally thrown up Ben in the alleyway behind Elliot’s house. Luther had made a silent vow to cross oatmeal out of Klaus’s breakfast menu for all of eternity.

So, definitely not Luther, who had to be present at the gym before eight in the morning, and the bowl was still steamy. Klaus had not made it himself, and the rest of their siblings had also left the house before he even crawled down here. Who had made it then?

“… clean it up yourself.”

She heard Klaus grumble to thin air, his back to her and he seemed to not register her presence yet, which only meant that he was chatting with his pal from the other side. It used to freak the ever loving hell out of her whenever Klaus did that — anyone in her shoe would share her sentiment once they learned of a killer ghost’s residence in their home, but after a week or two, familiarity eventually bled in and pushed back the initial scare. It helped that the ghost was invisible to her eyes so it was easy to pretend he wasn’t in the same room with her; last night was the first time she had made some sort of direct contact with him.

“Talking to your dead Swede huh?” Allison said to announce her presence, walking over to Klaus’s side.

“Oh hi, Allison,” Klaus greeted, turning his head to face her, taking in her wrinkled bathrobe and her uncombed hair with bleary eyes. “Working all night again?”

“Deadline’s this afternoon and I always work better in the dead of night so no choice. Coffee?”

She was making her way to the kitchen counter for the pot of coffee Five had made — her older/younger brother basically functioned on caffeine and murderous wrath — when her foot stepped on something. Startled, she looked down and found a shard of glass under her sole. It wasn’t the only piece though; in front of her lied the broken remains of a Jack Daniel’s bottle.

The mystery of the noise disrupting her sleep was solved.

“Jesus, Klaus, what happened here? Why are there glass shards everywhere?”

Klaus bared his teeth and hissed at no-one, causing Allison to roll her eyes. “I wish I could say something like there was a bull in the china shop,” he replied, “but in reality it was just Oscar utterly failing to mind his business, which isn’t much ‘cuz he’s, well, dead.”

“Seriously, what happened?” Allison asked, going on tiptoe to avoid stepping on the glass. She grabbed the coffee pot and two mugs and sat down at the table. Coffee on an empty stomach might not be the brightest idea of the day but they’d been doing it for so long any side effect had become an afterthought. Klaus snatched one of the mugs before she was even done filling it and guarded it with both hands as if he was guarding his own life. She wondered if he so desperately needed the coffee, why had he not grabbed the pot himself? He stuck his tongue out at the empty space before gulping down one third of the mug, and that was when Allison realized Oscar might have been standing at the kitchen counter the whole time. Jeez, had she gone through him when she went to get the coffee?

“ _Sống rồi_ ,” Klaus sighed lengthily, placing his mug on the table.

“What language was that?”

“Vietnamese. I picked up a couple phrases during you-know-when.”

Allison just nodded as she sipped her own mug.

“I woke up with a head-splitting migraine, nothing new,” Klaus began, swirling the spoon in his oatmeal, which must have gone lukewarm by now. He took a spoonful, grimacing as he swallowed. “So I went down here in search of some hair of the dog, and Oscar just had to be a dick about it.”

Allison’s arched eyebrow prompted him to elaborate on it and so he did. “It’s better if I show you.”

With a bit of sway in his gait he was somehow able to maneuver through the glass mine to reach the kitchen cabinet. He crouched down and pulled out the largest bottom drawer, and then in front of Allison’s wide eyes he opened a secret compartment inside and took out a bottle of vodka.

“Is that where Five keeps his liquor stash?” Allison asked.

Klaus’s reply was a short “yep”, with an audible pop for the “p”.

“How do you know? Five makes sure to hide it from you, even threatens to skin anyone who dares to tell you.”

Klaus scoffed, pointing a finger at his nose. “Like he can hide anything from this trained sniffer,” he said, twisting the cap. “Now watch.”

With one hand Klaus lifted the bottle to his lips while covering his ear with the other, which was kind of useless if you asked Allison’s opinion. She had but a second to be puzzled by his strange action before the bottle shattered in his grip. Just shattered. No aforementioned warning. No sound. No external force.

For a former world-famous celebrity and a current actress well on her way back to stardom, Allison’s face right now was pretty far from magazine-cover-worthy as she stared open-mouthed at the broken pieces joining the sorry mess on the floor. This sure topped her list of “WTF” things this year and she had seen and _been_ through some truly “WTF” shits.

Uncovering his ear, Klaus nonchalantly dropped the remaining of bottle and wiped his hand on his low-waisted skinny jeans. “At this rate I’m confident my fear of gunshots and loud noises is steady-fast on its merry track to termination,” he quipped, hopping back to his chair at the table and sitting down.

“What the hell was that?”

“That, dearest sister, was my lovely Swede’s flawless marksmanship. He did the same to that poor unfortunate bottle you saw on the floor and will very likely do the same to the next poor unfortunate bottle I touch.”

Klaus punctuated his sentence with a glare at the fridge. Allison followed his gaze and realization dawned on her. Of course there was always the supernatural element to account for any bizarre phenomenon in this household that couldn’t be explained with science or superpowers.

And spectral guns made no sound, so she had learned.

“Said alcohol made him _fuzzy around the edges_ ,” Klaus continued, air-quoting. “Well, not exactly _said_ but Oscar has a way of getting his point across.”

“But you said he didn’t drink or eat.”

“Exactly!”

“Maybe because you and he have a connection so it’s second-hand drinking, like a mother and her fetus,” Allison offered her explanation and promptly ignored Klaus making a face at her analogy. “That’s why he refused to be your enabler. I think I’m liking this dude Oscar a great deal more for this.”

Klaus shot her a look of utter betrayal, placing a hand over his chest for dramatic effect. Allison grinned around the rim of her coffee mug.

“I suppose he made this?”

Klaus rolled his eyes at his half-eaten oatmeal before swallowing a spoonful with visible difficulty. “I said to him if he absolutely _had_ to feed me, he should make eggs or waffles. Turns out the only thing he knew how to make was instant oatmeal.”

Allison nearly choked on her coffee with laughter. Klaus was quick to pat her back. “I’m starting to doubt this is really one of those deadly Swedish assassins,” she said, turning her head at the fridge. “Hey, can I have some oatmeal too?”

Silence answered her.

Both siblings burst into laughter.

“So,” Allison began after a few moments, “what happened yesterday?”

“I got shit-faced, what else is new?”

“Don’t play dumb. You getting tanked up is not new but never to the point you have to be carried home, by a ghost no less. Without him, where would you have ended up? A dumpster?”

“My Swiss-army ghost,” Klaus mumbled around a spoon of oatmeal. The bowl was almost empty despite his obvious struggle to consume its content. Allison was actually impressed; none of them, Five himself included, had been very successful in coaxing, or threatening in Five’s case, Klaus into eating something he didn’t want, which was just about every kind of food on a particularly bad day.

“Seriously, what _happened_?”

Klaus washed down his breakfast with the glass of water. “Yesterday afternoon he showed up at my shop, and by ‘he’ I mean Number One from The Sparrow Academy, or Spider-Ben as we’ve dubbed him.”

“What? Wha-Did he do anything? Did he harm you?”

Allison hadn’t forgotten the incident at Sir Hargreeves’s mansion. The cold, rigid fear that had gripped her lungs and heart when a long tentacle wrapped around Klaus’s throat was likely to haunt her for life.

“I’m still in one piece.”

Her gaze raked over Klaus’s skin for any injury.

“He didn’t hurt me, no, not physically at least. And he came alone, on his own accord, not on Reggie’s behalf or anything.”

“Why did he come to see you?”

If Number One had wanted to see them, he would have come to the mansion; instead he had paid Klaus’s shop a visit.

“Beats me,” Klaus said, shrugging. “He apologized to me for what’d happened, can you believe it? Also said a bunch of other shits I couldn’t hear over the beating of my heart. Not very keen on getting a second scar on my neck, y’know.”

“Then he just left?”

“Well, I might have shoved him out of the door by threatening to blow his brain.”

Allison raised her eyebrows at him. “Really? And he was intimidated? No offense but your powers aren’t exactly _mind-blowing_.”

Klaus huffed, leaning back against the chair. “Oscar was happy to do just that, right, _snygging_?”

He blew a kiss at the sink, coaxing a few giggles from Allison.

“Will he come back?”

“I dunno. Actually I’m not very keen on seeing his face right now, because it’s Ben’s face, y’know. Even his voice is Ben’s and hearing it sends a chill down my back.”

The mention of Ben sank the relatively light-hearted atmosphere between them. For a prolonged moment, Allison felt utterly speechless.

“I’m fine, _danke_ ,” Klaus said to thin air, and Allison was reminded of the third presence in the kitchen. Somehow she could imagine Oscar next to him, doing something to console him. It was almost… sweet.

“You still have to clean up that mess though. No, I don’t care. You made it, you cleaned it.”

Allison reached for Klaus’s hand on the table, interrupting his monologue.

“If he comes to bother you again, you tell us at once, alright?”

“He didn’t… bother me technically, and I can handle him.”

Allison recalled how totally wasted Klaus had been and couldn’t help doubting his words. “But you don’t have to,” she said, lacing her fingers with his.

It took a small while for Klaus to reciprocate her gesture. “OK,” he whispered.

“Any plan for the rest of the day?”

“I think I’m gonna take a day off,” Klaus said, standing up to bring his bowl and glass to the sink. “I’m gonna go upstairs, take a long and hot bath to mentally prepare myself for my gruesome death by Five’s hand when he comes home and finds himself short of two bottles. You?”

Allison chuckled, watching him rinse the items under the faucet. “I’m going to the theater in a few hours. You’re OK by yourself?”

“Of course, I have darling Oscar here with me, remember?”

“Right, your Swiss-army ghost. Look, Five doesn’t _have_ to know about the missing bottles. I won’t tell, you won’t tell and Oscar certainly won’t, and Five’s memory isn’t very good at his age.”

Klaus grinned at her, drying his hands with a dishtowel when he was done. “I love you so, so much,” he drawled, kissing her audibly on her cheek.

Allison’s eyes were on his slender form until it disappeared at the landing. She sipped her coffee while weighing the pros and cons of making a quick sandwich and buying something on her way to work.

Then she witnessed something funny: a broom and dust pan floated into the kitchen and proceeded to clean up the shards on the floor.

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> *Sống rồi: Vietnamese, meaning “I live” (there’s no “I” in the phrase by the way); it can also be understood as “I’m revived”  
> *snygging: Swedish, meaning “hottie”  
> I believe most people in this fandom already know what “danke” means.  
> (AO3 font might have messed up the Vietnamese characters)
> 
> —  
> I tried writing in Allison's POV for the first time and I enjoyed it. Hope I didn't make her too OOC.  
> Anyone interested in what truly happened between Klaus and Emo-Ben in Klaus’s shop? Klaus, being Klaus, wasn’t telling Allison the whole truth.


End file.
